


The Fear of Falling Apart

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Brotherly Angst, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Falling out, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Look he's trying his best okay, Seriously this kid goes OFF and it's great but also sad, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is So Done, Tim is PISSED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Tim tiptoes from his room, slipping downstairs as quietly as possible. Because god forbid someone (Alfred) finds out he’s trying to leave without saying goodbye. And Tim knows it’s a fairly dick-ish thing to do, but he also knows that it’s better this way for everyone. No muss, no fuss, no drama.He makes it almost to the foyer—the home stretch—when a voice speaks up behind him. “You’re not even going to stay for breakfast?”(Tim goesoffabout what Dick did at the beginning of the Red Robin comics and it's sad as fuck)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 93
Kudos: 882
Collections: Tim Drake





	The Fear of Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> **Me:** *sets up a rule that I'm not allowed to write anything until I finish my research paper*  
**Also me:** *gets bored during my comms class and writes practically all of this in the margins of my notebook so TECHNICALLY it doesn't count*
> 
> Look I've just had a lot of feelings lately about what happened between Dick and Tim when Tim first became Red Robin and it all just spiraled into this because that is some Quality angst/brotherly content/ouchness that DC never did anything about and I'm salty because I would have loved to see Tim snap and yell at Dick for what he did. 
> 
> Also this takes place right after the Blackest Night debacle, when Dick called Tim back to Gotham because their parents had all risen from the dead which was Bad and then stuff happened, and afterward Hal Jordan realized that Tim was right and Bruce was alive and yeah. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Tim prepares to leave long before the sun has risen an inch over the horizon. To be fair, it’s a miracle he stayed the night at all. If he weren’t so exhausted after the Black Lantern catastrophe which busied them all _well_ into the night, he would have fled the instant the crisis ended.  
  
It feels strange, being back at the manor. It’s not home—not anymore. The halls are lined with ghosts of the past, lingering on the back of Tim’s neck with cold pricks and hazy memories. There’s still a hole in the wall from where he drove a fist through it the night of his most recent breakdown.  
  
He packs a duffle bag, stuffing in only a change of clothes and his uniform. He knew before he came that he wouldn’t be staying long, and as always he’s proving himself right.  
  
Tim tiptoes from his room, slipping downstairs as quietly as possible. Because god forbid someone (Alfred) finds out he’s trying to leave without saying goodbye. And Tim knows it’s a fairly dick-ish thing to do, but he also knows that it’s better this way for everyone. No muss, no fuss, no drama.  
  
He makes it almost to the foyer—the home stretch—when a voice speaks up behind him. “You’re not even going to stay for breakfast?”  
  
Were he a couple years younger, Tim would jump out of his skin. Instead, he simply turns and spots Dick leaning against the doorway to the living room.  
  
He’s wearing an old pair of Bruce’s pajama pants—too long to the point where they pool around his feet. Going off the bags under his eyes it’s clear he hasn’t slept; the images of his parents’ decaying bodies seared behind his eyelids spurring endless nightmares. Tim knows because he had the same problem.  
  
“I’ve got things to take care of,” is his only explanation.  
  
“You’re still searching for him, huh?”  
  
Tim’s jaw sets in a hard line. “Why? Are you still hoping I’ll give up?”  
  
Dick doesn’t answer at first. His eyes linger on the duffle slung over Tim’s shoulder. “After everything we just went through, don’t you think you should take a break? At least for a little while.”  
  
“Because you want to keep an eye on me.”  
  
Dick’s face softens and he straightens so he’s no longer propped against the frame. “Because I _miss you, _little brother. You realize this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months? Until I called, I had no idea whether you were even still _alive_ for all the contact we’ve had lately.”  
  
“And whose fault is that?” It comes out sharper than he intends it to, but the simmering rage under Tim’s skin has been roiling ever since he arrived. Bubbling and boiling like a pot waiting to overflow.  
  
“I know.” Dick’s eyes cast downward. ”I know I messed up. I should have talked to you about it before I handed Robin over to Damian, and I wish more than anything that I could take it back.”  
  
Tim shrugs, but his body doesn’t lose its tension. “Water under the bridge.” And it’s true, somewhat. Tim lost the ability to care about things somewhere between Berlin and Iraq. The river has been drained dry. “We done?”  
  
“I can’t just stand by and let you walk out like this, you know.”  
  
“Why not? You didn’t care the first time.”  
  
Dick stiffens. _“You_ were the one who left _us,_ remember? _You _were the one who turned his back on his family at a time when we needed to be united more than ever.”  
  
“Because you gave me no choice!” Tim snaps. “If you had just fucking _listened to me—” _  
  
Dick steps forward. “You were acting like a lunatic, Tim! Ranting about time travel and paintings and breaking things and yelling...it scared the _crap _out of me.”  
  
“So, what, I should just forgive you for letting me think I’d lost my mind? For standing by while my entire _life _fell apart?”  
  
“I thought that out of everyone, I could count on you to be okay—”  
  
“But I _wasn’t _okay, was I?” Tim drops his bag to the ground and doesn’t realize he’s moving forward until his nose is inches away from Dick’s. “I am less okay than I’ve ever been in my entire _life. _And you didn’t do a thing to stop it.”  
  
“I tried!” Dick says, hands outstretched. “I tried to help you, but you wouldn’t let me!”  
  
“Oh, yeah? How _exactly_ did you help me, Dick? By telling me I was crazy? By _replacing _me? By having those talks with Alfred behind closed doors, telling him that I’d snapped and he should keep an eye on the kitchen knives?”  
  
He remembers the next day after Bruce’s death, when he wouldn’t get out of bed for anything. The conversation Dick and Alfred had while they thought he was asleep.  
  
_He just needs time. After all he’s been through these past few years, we should just be grateful it’s not worse than this. _  
  
A week after, when Tim refused to think about Bruce at all in the hopes that he would wake up one morning and find out it had all been a bad dream.  
  
_He’s just in denial. He’ll work through it eventually. _  
  
And then the night Tim discovered Bruce was alive and tried to tell Dick, bursting with excitement, only to be met with concerned eyes and a sad smile, like he was a puppy with three legs.  
  
_Oh, Timmy...I know you want to believe he’s still out there, but that’s not real. How long have you been having thoughts like this?_  
  
“Fine, you’re right,” Dick says now. “I should have had more faith in you.”  
  
“No _shit, _you should have. Do you have any idea what it’s like to not be able to trust your own mind? To be written off as a basket case by the _only _people you have left?”  
  
“I—”  
  
“And even if I _was _crazy and seeing things that weren’t there, it was _your _job to be there for me. I lost my father for the_ second time,_ and the thing I needed most in the world was for my big brother to hug me and tell me that everything was going to be okay.”  
  
He’s crying now—can feel warm tears sliding down to collect at his jaw—but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away.  
  
“I needed you,” he says, breath hitching. “You were my brother. You were the only person I had left, and I _needed you.”_  
  
Dick’s eyes are glassy. “I understand what I did was messed up, but please, little brother—”  
  
“No. You don’t _get _to call me that.” These past few months, Tim has internalized every emotion he could carry until his heart hung heavy in his chest like a block of iron, ready to burst with the faintest nudge. And now that it’s finally bursting, he can’t stop himself from flinging the shards as far as possible. He doesn’t _want _to stop.   
  
“You told me you trusted me, but you didn’t mean it. You _never_ meant it. And I should have seen it sooner because when the time finally came and I needed to know that my world wasn’t falling to pieces, _where were you?”_  
  
The words are laced with venom, sharp and painful. He doesn’t care. He _wants _his words to hurt Dick—hurt him at least a fraction of the way Dick has hurt him.  
  
It’s funny, in a way. Tim has played this very conversation out in his head a dozen times before, in the shower and lying awake in bed and while nodding off on airplanes. What he would say to Dick the next time he saw him. Which lashing words he would use to inflict as much damage as possible.  
  
But then Dick called, and Tim knew it wasn’t the time to be petty and bitter. Not when the dead were walking and the planet was in crisis mode. Even after the dust settled he never found the right time to bring it up, and in a way he was glad for it. But that restraint is gone now.  
  
“I know I failed you then, but I’m here _now, _Tim.” Dick tries to take him by the shoulders, but Tim smacks his hands away. Hard. “I’m here and I’m not letting you go again.”  
  
Tim steels his gaze. “Yeah? Then look me in the eye right now and tell me you believe me.”  
  
Dick bites his lip. “I…” His eyes shift, uncertain. “I could.”  
  
Tim barks a laugh; high-pitched and a little insane even to his own ears. “Of course,” he says, shaking his head. “Of _course _you still don’t.”  
  
“Tim—” Dick tries.  
  
“No.” He steps back. “This is good. At least you still have your honesty.”  
  
“It’s not you, I swear. Just…”  
  
“No, I get it. Even after all we’ve just been through, after watching our own goddamn _parents _rise from the grave—” His eyes flash cold. “—you still don’t trust me.”  
  
“I _do _trust you, Tim, I just—” He flounders for words. “I _can’t. _I can’t afford to get my hopes up now, with everything else that’s going on.”  
  
Tim nods, too exaggerated to be anything but sarcastic. “Sure, I understand. And you know, this helped, actually.” He runs a sleeve under his nose, sniffling. “Because now at least I know not to get _my_ hopes up, either. So thanks for that.”  
  
The heartbroken look on Dick’s face would have made last year’s Tim Drake dissolve into a puddle of apologies.  
  
Now, Tim doesn’t even blink.  
  
“How do I fix this?” Dick asks. Practically begs. “How do I make this better?”  
  
Tim could laugh. “Buy a time machine and go back to a time when I still thought you had my back.”  
  
“I _do _have your back, Tim. You’re still my brother and I love you.” He tries again to make contact, but Tim backs away until he hits the wall behind him, glaring all the while. Dick looks like someone just shattered his whole world.  
  
“You have Damian,” Tim says coldly. “You don’t need me.”  
  
“Please, buddy.” It’s little more than a whisper. “I’m trying to keep this family from falling apart.”  
  
Tim swallows down the lump in his throat. “Yeah, well. You’ve already done that, so.” He raises his hands and drops them in a hopeless gesture. “That’s that.”  
  
“We can fix this,” Dick says. “Move back into the manor, we’ll discuss the Bruce stuff later. I can make this right.”  
  
Tim shakes his head. “Sorry, Dick. I know you’re trying to patch things up or whatever, but…” He shrugs. “Too little, too late.”  
  
He turns and walks back, picking his bag up off the floor. He’s halfway to the door when Dick catches up and grabs his arm. “Wait—please, wait for a minute.”  
  
Tim yanks his arm away. But he stops. “You have thirty seconds.”  
  
“Hal Jordan called earlier. I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t entirely know what to think of it myself. But he said that Bruce’s corpse wasn’t...right, when it got the ring. That there was something different about it.”  
  
Tim doesn’t move. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”  
  
“I just thought you’d want to know.”  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks. You try to have me committed for thinking Bruce is alive, but a_ Green Lantern _says it’s possible and suddenly you’re converted.”  
  
“I never said that.”  
  
“That you believe him, or that you’ll take anyone’s judgement over your own brother’s?”  
  
“Both.”  
  
“So...what?” Tim asks. “You trying to tell me that you_ still _don’t think he’s out there?”  
  
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” The worst part is that he’s completely honest when he says it. Like he’s determined not to believe Tim’s claims by any means necessary.  
  
“Well, have fun figuring it out. Honestly, I gave up on caring about what you guys do around here a long time ago.” Dick flinches as if the words carry a physical blow, and a demon buried deep inside of Tim’s soul grins.  
  
Tim hoists the bag higher over his shoulder. “Tell Alfred I said goodbye. Damian too, if it’ll make you feel better.”  
  
Dick looks ready to cry. But Tim’s run out of sympathy. “Please, Tim. Stay. I don’t want to lose you again.”  
  
“You’ll get over it.” He opens the door and then hesitates, one foot out. He looks over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I’m sorry I took off and left you here to pick up the pieces.”  
  
He sniffles and musters a small, ingenuine smile. “But I’m also sorry that it took a worldwide crisis and someone else’s story for you to almost believe in me.”  
  
Dick’s hand twitches, like it takes all of his restraint not to run over and hug Tim close and never let him go. “When will we see you again?”  
  
Tim huffs a laugh, but it’s empty. “Does it matter?”  
  
He shuts the door before Dick can answer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! If you leave a comment, I shall deep-throat a turnip. 
> 
> Edit: Didn't know this needed to be said but hey, if you _don't_ like the fic, maybe don't leave a comment? Because _dang,_ homies. 
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


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